


Follow the Past

by naturalcuriosities



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Cussing, F/M, Pre timeskip because that's when they're alive, Reader is a dfab, Slow...slow...slow burn, and everything goes roughly different from there on, dubcon at the start?, gotta make way for you to be cool, like a barbecue, you get a cool horse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturalcuriosities/pseuds/naturalcuriosities
Summary: You don't remember anything. It's just you, your journal, a "special meeting," and the unfortunate coincidence of apparently being important to a few prominent people.TW Warning: (It starts with dubcon (not sure if it is but just to be safe) so please take care.)





	1. (Explicit) Clifface

Even without memory, you never thought of yourself to be the type to meet strangers in alleys, much less be stripped half-naked and fingered. Yet, here you are, backed up against the brick wall with only your coat protecting your back from what dust or coal is smeared on it. The man against your body had unbuttoned your shirt and pants, but otherwise left you clothed. Your bra was pushed up to expose your breasts to his lips, and his hand was between your thighs rubbing against your core. His other hand was against the wall beside your head, trapping you with him.

Not that you wanted to go, anyways.

“Really,” he pants, “the most beautiful woman…I’ve ever seen…”

You whimper and buck into his hand. What were you thinking, following the journal to this alley? All you wanted was to find out what a “special meeting” meant…

 

But it’s not as if you regret it.

“Ah…I…” You keen and writhe in place, twisting your hands against him for some kind of stability. The wet, squelching sounds, the heavy breathing, the rustle of clothing…all just barely under the sounds of people and activity outside. Even with no torch to light up where you were, anyone could be listening…

What if someone is in the dark, listening already?

A sharp nip at your throat snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Stop that,” he mumbles, voice slurred with lust, “just focus on me.”

Then two fingers enter you, sliding in with ease, and you could do anything but. You found yourself spreading wider as he pumps his fingers into you, hard and fast and yet…considerate. You feel it in the kisses pressed along your heaving chest, in the deft yet careful curling of his fingers inside you to find every trigger in your body, in the quick whispers of “I’ve got you” as he lets you rest against him as you come, and once you finish, when he says…

“Are you alright?”

You blink, not expecting such tenderness in an otherwise unromantic situation. Your core is still dripping wet, and your breasts still exposed to the chilly air.

“Y-Yes…” You reply, fidgeting. At that, he sighs and coaxes your thighs open. In your post-bliss haze, you do so almost automatically, and he cleans you up with what you assume is a handkerchief. You could hear him breathe next to your ear. “Why?”

He gives an audible shrug. “You’re…quieter. More distracted.” He then rests against you, his wrist brushing against your folds. You feel a flare of heat inside you at the contact, though it is dulled by your exhaustion. But he keeps his wrist there, keeps his breath furling down your chest. And suddenly there was nothing sexual or inappropriate about your situation, about him touching you so intimately. It felt right.

“It’s nothing,” you cover up, “it’s just been a lot lately.” Really, you were just being quiet because you didn’t want to alert anyone that you had lost your memories. If they knew, what kinds of lies would they try to put into your head? All you have is the journal. Your journal, and the strange, vague scribbling on it.

“I don’t see you anymore,” he suddenly says, and his wrist turns. His fingers brush up against your folds, and this time the flare is very much there. “Do you want me to take your mind off it?” He uses his fingertips to trace gentle circles on your heat, thumb sifting through the sensitive bundles of flesh and nerves like it was a book. You feel a smile against your shoulder as he waits for you to answer.

“I...would like to, but…” You trail off, not sure what to say other than that you do not know who he is. Thankfully, he does not seem to need an excuse, as his hand withdraws from your body and he helps you to dressing yourself. Once you’ve buttoned up your coat and smoothed down your hair, he holds your face once more.

“Go,” he says gently, “I’ll watch you.”

You follow what he says and leave. Right before you step out into the open night, you cast one last glance back into the alley. He is there. You know it, even if you cannot see him. Then you nearly get knocked over by a passing deliveryman and you decide to hurry home.


	2. Inspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heavy hand knocks on your door.

Few people know about your lack of memories, and they are the incredibly generous Muller family that owns the inn you are staying at. It is no proper stay, as they let you in without paying for it, but you insisted on at least helping the family business until you managed to get your old job back. If it was desirable.

 

It was three days ago that Agatha, the matriarch, had found you unconscious by the empty barrels that the family kept outside for beer refills. With her husband Titus’ help, they brought you into their home in the dead of night and wrapped you in whatever blankets they could spare. From what Agatha narrated to you, you were in bad shape: cold skin, clammy hands, and lips that were damn near blue -- the grandchildren thought that you were a zombie.

 

But then Agatha was meticulous in caring for your unconscious form, with no hesitation or thought that she may be getting involved with something dangerous; unlike Titus, who chose to avoid the couch that you were set on like it was death itself. Their children that remained -- though they were already adults -- had a hand in helping you: Katherine dutifully mended your clothes, as hers were too small for you to borrow, and Frederic prepared the old storeroom for however long you would stay. All the while, Katherine’s own children hovered over you, fascinated by your mysterious entrance into the family.

 

When you woke up, it was quite the spectacle: you saw some sharp, white point floating an inch over your eye and you began to flail and scream. However, your body was still weak and disused, so you ended up falling to the floor and wriggling around, all the while emitting hoarse screeches. Frederic, who was well-meaning in trying to renew your bandages, was a superstitious man and assumed that you had been possessed. He ran out of the storeroom and grabbed a bucket of soapy water -- holy enough, he presumed -- and was about to douse it over you when Katherine -- who is calmer by experience of being a mother of four -- held him back and ordered him to call Agatha.

 

After Agatha flew to your side, there was no more wildness or excitement. She calmly explained to you where you were, who they were, and how they found you; all information that you were fine with taking in, compared to the horribly quick realization that followed.

 

“What is your name?” Agatha inquired, a soft smile across her ancient face.

 

Your lips moved to form some kind of letter, but nothing came out. Your mind was blank, and you knew that it shouldn’t be.

* * *

 

You sweep the floor of the tavern area, the dust clinging to your legs beginning to itch your skin. You had the whole morning to clean the place, so your only worries were any mess the overnight residents and the kids may leave before nightfall. You lean on the broom to scratch at your ankle, but you tip over and fall, landing face-first onto the floor. The broom clatters beside you.

 

“Whattareyoudoing?” Katherine says in her usual rapid, near-incoherent mumbling. She frowns at your state from the bar and drops her washrag to help you up. She buckles a little at your weight, but manages. You thank her and pick up the old broom and continue sweeping under the table. Something picks gently at your hair, and you turn around. Katherine rolls a piece of lint between her worn fingers.

 

“Youneedtoremember,” she sighs, “can’tlivelikethis.”

 

You laugh nervously, the topic brought up way too early in the morning. “The only thing I’m certain about myself is my name, and it’s all thanks to that journal.” You point your chin to the table where you set the worn book down. “Everything else there makes no damn sense.”

 

Katherine puffs her cheeks -- _cute_ \-- and crosses her arms. “Read...more,” she berates and whirls on her foot, her skirts billowing behind her. She ducks under the bar and goes back inside to polish the bottles.

 

You sweep for a while, steadily approaching the door when a loud and heavy knock comes through. “Closed!” You shout.

 

“This is a Military Police investigation. Please open up.” A voice announces from the other side. You and Katherine give each other a look. What the hell would the police want with this place?

 

Katherine’s confused look turns into a scowl as she ducks her way out of the bar and storms over to the door. “Taxesagain, I will…” She throws the door open, and a burst of daylight blinds you temporarily. Dust glitters in the air. All you could see is Katherine’s heavily dressed silhouette.

 

You hear an exchange of voices, Katherine’s low mumbling somehow louder than the policeman’s. But you step closer to the door and hear enough to piece together a conversation.

 

“Whatisyourbusiness?”

 

“Please step aside, civilian. This is a matter of public safety.” The policeman sounds snotty and almost childlike.

 

“It’smymattertoo. Whatisyourbusiness?”

 

“What?”

 

“Fuckyou.”

 

“Excuse me!” The policeman’s cry makes you wince. You hurry to Katherine’s side, ready to defend her, but you are interrupted by another voice -- lower, more...weighted.

 

“Enough, Faas,” the new voice sighed.

 

Faas -- who you could now see is much older than his tinny voice made him to be -- pales at the voice. He turned swiftly and backed into you, blocking your view. He beat one hand to his chest.

 

“S-sir! This woman is refusing entry!” The hand behind his back squeezed his jacket tightly, even making the ‘good luck’ finger fold. Whoever this new person was, he meant business.

 

“Any woman would, considering your attitude. Get back to where you were supposed to be looking, or you won’t be seen again.”

 

Faas bows his head like a beaten puppy and slinks away -- likely to bother another home. The second policeman takes his place, this one a little taller and thinner, with a younger but tired face. Around his neck is a red tie of sorts that caught light under the morning.

 

“I apologize for that,” he says to Katherine, who seems rather awestruck by him for some reason, “the Military Police shouldn’t behave in such a manner. But we do need to search your building.” He gives an honest albeit tired smile, and Katherine gives way. At that, the officer shouts orders to someone outside, and a squadron of policemen file in, quick to inspect and turn over anything they see. Katherine rushes off to help one look into the locked pantry, and the officer turns to you.

 

“And for you, I--” He freezes at the sight of you, and even if you hadn’t been moving, you do so, too. There was something about him...no, it’s positive: You _knew_ him. From _before._

 

He glances around the room, then leans closer to you.

 

“What are you doing here?” He whispers. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Erwin?”

 

‘ _With who?,’_ you were tempted to ask, but then you remember your rule.

 

“For what?” You reply, just as quietly. Hopefully, the old you was a forgetful person.

 

However, the officer seems to disagree. He frowns and takes you by the wrist outside. You two stand under the porch, and seeing the look of concern on his face, you wonder if you should make a break for it.

 

“You said that you were going to stay with him. You promised us you would do it to keep you safe.”

 

Oh, what did you get into?

 

“Maybe…” You hesitate, formulating a lie in your head already. “Maybe, Erwin isn’t as safe as he looks.” That should be good, right?

 

No. The officer tilts his head, as if you spoke in another language. “You of all people shouldn’t be saying that.” He tries to lay another hand, on your shoulder probably, but you flinch away. He lets go of your wrist, but his stare is just as restricting. “What made you change your mind?” His breath hitches, and a light of realization and fear shines behind his eyes. “What did he do to you?”

 

“Nothing!” You insist. This was getting out of hand, and you weren’t sure if you could keep up the charade any longer. “Just stay away from me!” You rush back into the inn, startling some of the investigators. Katherine sees you and guides you to the storeroom. You sit down on a barrel and sigh.

 

Katherine sits in front of you, hiding you from everyone else. She rubs your arm reassuringly and clicks her tongue. Not too far away, you hear _him_ round up the policemen.

 

“What...didhedotoyou?” She asks, and you stiffen. It’s the exact same…

 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “he just...recognized me. And that I shouldn’t be here. That I should be with Erwin for safety.”

 

Katherine makes an odd noise, something between a growl and a gasp.

 

“Doyourecognizehim?” She presses.

 

“Not really. But when I saw him, I...I knew I was supposed to know him.” Katherine’s hand tightens a little on your arm, and she seems to be wrestling with an idea. “What’s wrong?”

 

She almost answers, but then _he_ clears his throat. Katherine whips around and bristles, covering you protectively. But he doesn’t step beyond the doorway.

 

“Our business is done,” he says, though his attention is far from her. He watches you with scrutiny. “Thank you for your time.” He doesn’t let Katherine say a mean word to him and quickly gets his men out of the tavern. The door closes with a heavy thud, and you two are alone.

 

“Do you..knowwhothatis?” Katherine’s quiet but heavy tone breaks the silence. It reminded you of a vase teetering on the edge of a table, ready to fall and crash.

 

“No. Who is he?”

 

Katherine sighs and looks you straight in the eyes.

 

“That..  is… Nile Dawk. Commander of the police.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Nile is a bit...how do you say...outspoken? He is that way for a reason, I swear.
> 
> And oh, just what kind of trouble were you in before?
> 
> Right now I'm thinking of doing the route style of things, in that I give you the general intro and then split it off into three -- or four -- separate routes. But we'll see, we'll see.


	3. Thieves' Escape

The rest of the family returned to the inn by late morning, and Katherine gathered them to tell them about the rude policemen and the inspectors. You and her agreed to not let them know about the commander, as Agatha and Frederic -- both very fond of you by now -- might just take the issue to court in your defense. You simply hoped that you could just stay inside and the commander would not come back to bother you again.

You set down an empty tray on the kitchen counter and huffed. The tavern was in full operation for the lunch hour rush as civilians and soldiers poured in to splurge half their wallet on some actual food. You’d tasted what the rest of the city had to offer, and since that day the Muller food was godlike to your tongue.

Bless Agatha and her cooking, honestly.

Frederic appeared from behind the oven, smiling bright and bearing a large tray of fresh rolls. You pile as many rolls as you can and give Frederic a friendly punch to the shoulder before heading out to keep up with the growing demand outside. You bump into Katherine and, as you leave, catch a few of her words.

“Somanytoday…”

As you looked out into the dining area, you thought the same thing. Even though a crowded room was normal for the inn, today it was absolutely packed. There are the townspeople from this side of the wall and over and some Garrison soldiers that frequented the bar spilling tankards of beer into their mouths, but the newer -- and larger -- population was composed of a different breed of military.

Titus comes up from behind you and, noticing your confusion, says, “Scouting Legion soldiers. I assume the expedition went well, for once.”

You stretch your neck to look up at him. His usual gaunt frown was deepened, and his good eye was dark, even in the noon light. He side-eyes you for a moment. “They returned a day before we found you. Feast your eyes upon the devils of this earth.” 

“What expedition? Why are they that bad? Are they dangerous? Should we kick them out?”  
Titus bows his head and releases a heavy, dry sigh. “It’s not that easy to explain. They think they do good, that they’re heroes, but,” he cast a pitch black glare at a particular table, one you cannot see yet beyond the throng of uniforms and aprons, “they’re all pieces of shit.”

You nod. Uniforms are bad, everyone else vaguely tolerable. Titus Muller had a refreshingly simple view of things. The crowd shifted some, and you could finally follow his glare to to table twenty-one at the wall. It’s a small table, fully occupied by four Scouting Legion soldiers. The first one is leaning on the table, yelling something and waving his (?) - her (?) - _their_ (?) gangly arms around with a wild head of hair that seemed to have the entire forest stuck in it. The rest are sitting down and all on varying degrees of interested in whatever was being ‘discussed.’

The blond man opposite them seems the most interested, sitting stick straight and built like a wall. He stares down his plate with an intense frown, nodding along at a steady pace. On second thought, he didn’t look _that_ interested in listening.

As a sidenote, you note that he looks attractive - somewhat. Even with your five days of life, you could see the appeal. Fine bones and a sharp, clean appearance that was rare in the sweat and mud of the townspeople, you might say that he was born from a privileged or well-to-do family. 

Next to him, almost comically shorter, is a dark haired man sitting...cross-legged? And drinking tea...holding the brim? You shake your head. This group is strange. He stuck close to his neighbor and was not the least bit interested in anything that was happening.

Lastly, the one sitting with back to you. From what you could tell, this one was a man and seemed to be the biggest of them all, hunched under the low-hanging lantern and, from the shoulder and elbow movement, eating a sandwich or biscuit. If these people are soldiers, this _has_ to be the strongest. Maybe even the commander. 

You take one step closer; maybe you could take a closer look under the guise of serving more rolls, but as you do, the big one stiffens. He looks around for a bit, and you can’t help but freeze. Even at this distance, where it is unlikely that you actually startled him, you hold your breath. You shake some sense back into your head. No, he couldn’t be after you, how ridiculous…

But he turns around, and his eyes land on you, and you see the look.

The same one that the commander had when he entered the inn and saw you.

The shock, the surprise, the _recognition…_

The icy panic rushing up your body.

He opens his mouth and tugs the sleeve of the other blond man, eyes never leaving you. The latter clocks his eyes onto you, and bears the very same reaction.

What the hell? What the _hell?_

They rise an inch from their chairs. 

You need to go. You _need_ to get away.

The dark-haired companion notices and shoots up, tense and ready.

You can’t move.  
They’re all up now, just as frozen as you are.

The loud one steps towards you.

A hard force pulls you back and you fall. The tray clatters beside your ear. You glimpse a whirlwind of green. Katherine.

“Run!” She said, and that’s all you need.

You scramble to your feet and run through the crowd, pushing away anyone in sight. You could hear Katherine’s voice amid the noise, high and undaunted. You turn the corner into the staff area. Gasps and yells erupt behind you. 

You’re in the kitchen. The roar of the oven drowns out everything. Frederic is a blur past you. So is Titus. You fling the doors open and you’re outside the back, the alleys burned and gray. Your sides are open. To your left is the main street. To your right is a pipe to the roofs.

Where, where?

Glass shatters at your left. A young soldier limps to his feet and slides back through the window. People outside jerk back at the commotion and begin to crowd at the entrance.

Right it is.

You sprint past the inn, enough to hear Agatha’s old yet great roar. You jump at the pipe and scurry up the ridges, daylight in your face. You scramble up the roof and charge across the block, ducking under clotheslines and skidding down thatches. You jump over a main street and dash through the blinding light.

The people below you are drawn to the inn behind you. Word spread quickly. You see policemen in the distance hurrying to the area. You escaped.

You stop on a flat roof and fall to your knees. Dark blue spots meld and form in your vision. Your body burns. Your lungs rattle and your throat is cold. The air you breathe is empty and useless, like you are more a doll than a human. Yet you lurch over and back just to breathe.

 _Don’t panic,_ you beg yourself, _they’re gone._

“Oi.”

You throw yourself back and drag yourself away from the voice. It’s the dark man from earlier, not nearly as exhausted as you are. He looms over you, pale gray eyes scrutinizing your every move. His face is shadowed from the white sky. How did he catch up with you?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He demands. You drag yourself back more, but he steps forward.

“I should...ask you the same…” You manage a reply between your shallow breaths. You move back a little more.

He frowns. “What are you talking about?” He steps forward again, and you crawl away almost religiously, digging your nails into the stone. “We protected you, and you disappeared just when we needed you. Without a fucking trace.” He marches up to you, a dark look on his face. “Where the hell did you go?!”

You shut your eyes, as if that would send him away. “I don’t know!”

Your arms are burning, but you keep crawling away. Your legs are heavy as stone. You open your eyes again. He is not mad as he is suddenly alarmed. His jaw dropped, his silver eyes wide.

You give one last plea, just as he does.

“Just stay away from me!”

“[Y/n], stop--!”

He runs to you, then disappears. Wind rushes up behind you. You’re weightless.

Stone walls rise up around you. There’ll be ground any time now, but shit, it’s better than _them._

Yeah, you’ve had one hell of a short life.

You feel the impact before you close your eyes, and it shoves the air right out of your lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small one, to make up for the lack of updates without making a post just to announce the lack of updates. I had a lot of stuff to do towards the end of the year, but it got my idea bunnies hopping!
> 
> I called it Thieves' Escape because you do a good running in this chapter. A very good running.


	4. Let Go Of Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A /very/ mini one. Originally half of a whole, but it's just this stubborn missing piece that I need to bridge the two together.

_Shadows into light. Drumbeats, heartbeats, thunder in the skies. The gates open too quickly— no, just stay here, where it is safe._

 

_Give her a chance._

 

_Give her a choice._

 

_She belongs to me._

 

_Give her to me!_

 

_Stay away from her!_

 

_You’ve hurt enough people._

 

_Give her to me._

 

_I said stay away!_

 

_Stand down!_

 

_GI V E H ER TO M E!_

 

A gasp rips through the darkness, and the world bursts into light and colors. Where are you? The…town, the inn, those soldiers! Then you ran…and fell. Are you dead? The warmth around you feels heavenly enough, you wouldn’t mind huddling closer.

 

A rough hand gently combs through your hair, massaging your head that has been aching since yesterday. It rubs soothing circles under your neck, lulling you into a sense of lightness. The wind fans across your face, tickling your skin. It ebbs and flows through you, a steady rhythm in the faint cacophony worlds away.

 

Wait.

 

The wind doesn’t have a rhythm.

 

That is breathing.

 

You’re alive?

 

Shit.

 

You force your eyes open, and daylight assaults your vision. After blinking away the light, you worm your way into a sitting position. You’re being carried, that much you could tell from what feels to be arms wrapped around you. Resisting the urge to nuzzle back to dreamland, you twist around to see who managed to catch you from your death. A tawny and worn leather jacket, a thick green shirt, and a massive build; this was not Katherine.

 

You trail your gaze upwards, the continuous reveal of masculine features further beating to the ground your hopes of being safe in Katherine's care. Strong jawline, facial hair...who the hell was this?

 

And then you see the face, and oh _no._

 

It's the man from the inn, the one who first noticed you. He watches you with caution, now hesitant with being so close to you since you are awake. He keeps a firm hold on you, just enough to secure you to him without suffocating you. You wiggle, testing to see if you had a fighting chance, and he frowns as he tightens his arms curl up from under you. No chance at all.

 

You hear shrieking from nearby, and you turn your head towards it. Katherine, eyes heated and face a livid red, lets loose a barrage of incomprehensible but undeniably loaded insults at the man carrying you. Her arms are a fan of flailing limbs, with the occasional "bird" jabbed towards him for punctuation. She stamps her right foot enough times to break the bones in it, yet she remains relentless in her assault.

 

A shadow jumps at the corner of your vision. The man who chased you had climbed down from the rooftop. He clicks his tongue as he surveys Katherine, possibly tempted to give Katherine a good verbal thrashing of his own.

 

“Watch your language. You’ve started enough shit already!” He shouts.

 

And there he makes his mistake.

 

Because one does not simply ‘come into disagreement’ with Katherine Muller.

 

They ‘get into a fight.’

 

Katherine throws a punch at him, and he dodges and moves in front of you. What follows is Katherine trying to beat the soul out of him with the man admirably blocking and avoiding every attempt. She moves quick, but this is clearly an experienced soldier.

 

Crowds gather around the entrance of the alley, none willing to tell off the furious storm of skirts and nails for their own sake. The man carrying you gives a soft rumble of amusement -- at least _someone_ was enjoying himself.

 

His fun has to come to an end, however, as the noise is overpowered by a booming voice.

 

" _What is going on here?!_ "

 

Both Katherine and her opponent freeze, and the crowd is quick to move aside. A tall figure emerges; it's the third one from earlier, the highborn-looking one. He looms over you, and you realize that you are mistaken: the big one isn't the commander. It's _him._ He carries such weight around him, such confidence, and the blue-green tie around his neck is only a final confirmation.

 

"Levi," he regards the man who chased you across the roofs, "stand down."

 

'Levi' drops his block and steps away from Katherine, still tense. You hear footsteps rapidly approaching, and a small band of policemen arrive. Led by Commander Dawk.

 

"Erwin," he greets briefly, which the commander, 'Erwin,' returns. "You better have a damn good reason for the inn. I've had men carry out unconscious citizens and soldiers left and right. It looks like a warzone in there.”

 

Katherine seems proud of herself at the last comment.

 

Erwin gives no expressed reaction. “I assure you Nile, the conflict was unintentional.” _Asshole,_ you think. His smugness is invisible, but palpable. Clearly, Nile feels it too.

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, then makes orders for his men to clear away the crowd. The policemen usher the crowd away, blocking all of you from their view. After a few minutes, the crowd subsides, and it is quiet. Nile turns to Katherine.

 

“Apologies for the chaos, ma’am. The Military Police will investigate this shortly, and will arrange for compensation if any is due.”

 

“Noneed,” Katherine chirps, a pearly smile on her face. She’s clearly enjoying fighting authority figures. “Ijustwant...theperverttoletgo...ofher.” She points at you, and you remember your unpleasant position. Nile’s sour expression worsens at the sight of you — no, it is pure resentment.

 

Granted, your last (and for you, first) meeting didn’t go well. Who were you in his eyes, then and now? What stories were in his head, and how much of you did he know?

 

“That...can be done,” Erwin speaks with hesitation. “Mike, put her down.”

 

‘Mike’ gently lowers you to the ground, but you kick off midway and scramble to Katherine. You hate to think of it, but you were using her as a shield from them. From these strange, suspicious, and most likely dangerous people that just so happen to know who you are.

 

Erwin walks towards you, and someone else moves behind you, effectively blocking your escape. It’s not like you could. He stands right beside you — shit, he’s tall — and regards you with a deep frown.

 

“And _we_ need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In two or so chapters, you'll be able to meet people actually from the show. Don't worry!
> 
> I had to change the Chapter 1 title because looking at it reminded me of the missed opportunity of calling it the "Yellow Dick Road."
> 
> I'm curious; I haven't given much description to the Muller family, so how do you visualize them with only their personalities to go by?


	5. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me everything."

The inn is a mess. Puddles of drink, spatters of breadcrumbs, and bits of torn cloth cover every inch of the floor, soaking and clinging to your shoes as you push past overturned tables and snapped-off chair legs. Behind you, someone curses in a whisper.

 

“Ma’am,” Nile says, “do you  _ really  _ not need any—”

 

“No, no,” Katherine interrupts. “Nottheworstwe’vehad.”

 

“Levi —” Erwin starts.

 

“Got it.” The door shuts behind you, and you turn around. Levi is gone, and it’s only you, Katherine, and the three crazy soldiers. Katherine struts off to the bar and disappears behind the bottle cabinet. You aren’t fooled: You worked the bar before, and you know that even behind the cabinet you could still hear what goes on outside, as well as take a peek through a strategically placed mirror. In a way, you aren’t annoyed that she isn’t quite there, but not exactly gone. She’ll let you deal with  _ them  _ first, but in the meantime she’ll be sharpening the kitchen knives. Though looking at these guys, they may be physically deadly, in hindsight haven’t tried anything yet nor do they look the type.

 

Except for that Levi guy. Fuck him.

 

As you explore the marshes of splinters and potato soup, you hear the three old men mumbling among themselves.  _ Okay _ , you argue with yourself, _ they’re not  _ **_that_ ** _ old.  _ If anything, they look to be around your age, if you could remember what it is.

 

“[Y/N],” Erwin calls out from a few meters away. You turn around. “Whenever you’re ready.” His expression and tone say the exact opposite, and you feel like one of Katherine’s kids about to be told off.

 

“Just looking for a table,” you fire back. “Kind of hard, considering what your people did to the place.”

 

Erwin doesn’t look angry. Just…suspicious. As if you had spoken in a different language. He shares a glance with Nile, who gives the tiniest of nods. Then Erwin gives Mike a  _ look,  _ and suddenly Mike’s hovering over you. You push back before he could do anything and stick to the opposite wall.

 

“What the hell?!” You exclaim and grab a not-quite-broken bottle, ready to chuck it at his face. But Mike makes no move towards you. He returns to Erwin, head bowed and hair covering his eyes. You catch him mumbling to Erwin, “…not the same…something wrong…”

 

You’ve had enough.

 

“Mind telling me why the  _ fuck  _ you did that?!” You glare at Mike, who flinches. “Actually no, mind telling me why the fuck you did  _ anything you just did?!” _

 

Erwin steps ahead of Mike. “[Y/N]—” You  _ hate  _ it when he says your name. “—calm down—we’re only trying to help you—”

 

“Help me?” A pained laugh escapes you. “Really? All you’ve ever done was ruin everything for me! I didn’t have a normal life to begin with, and  _ you—”  _ You point at Nile. “—showed up and _ everything went wrong—” _

 

“Excuse me!” Nile interjects.

 

“—and all I want is to pretend as if nothing  _ horrible  _ has happened —”

 

“What horrible — you’re not making any sense —”

 

“[Y/N], slow down and just let us —”

 

Their voices blend with yours. You can’t even hear what you’re saying.

 

“—as if you know  _ everything  _ about me and _ I don’t  _ —”

 

“—what do you mean—”

 

“—and I  _ hate it, I hate that I have to lie and rely on what everyone tells me —” _

 

“—wantmeto—getthemout—”

 

“—and I would  _ never  _ know if they are lying to me—”

 

“—ma’am, stay away from her—”

 

“—do you know why?! Because —”

 

“—just shut the fuck up for a moment and let us—”

 

“— I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE!”

 

The words rip your throat open and leave you dry. You don’t feel relieved that you’ve let out your frustration, not only from them but from the moment you woke up. You don’t feel even a glimmer of satisfaction at watching them freeze and any sense of understanding crumble in their eyes. You just feel empty. Drained of all the little that was in you before.

 

Someone grabs your arm and you flinch. Katherine steps away and holds up a roll of bandages. She smiles gently, though she is frowning. “Your hand…”

 

You look down at your hands. Your right hand is coated in glistening red blood, blooming from scratches all over your skin. Embedded into your palm is a myriad of tiny glass fragments like stars in a crimson sky. On the floor lay the shattered remains of the bottle. Katherine tugs you back to the present and guides you behind the bar cabinet. She sits you down and unrolls a few meters of bandages. As she works on your wound, you begin to feel it: The pulsing web of pain, the warmth of blood, the bitter smell in your lungs and deep in your throat.

 

And you close your eyes and cry. You couldn’t help it; you were so fucking  _ tired.  _ You woke up only a few days ago knowing absolutely nothing about you, except that you are a piece of a puzzle that fit absolutely  _ nowhere  _ as far as the eye could see. No matter what you do, nothing would come back. Nothing would make sense. And it’s not as if you could ignore it, as the three outside have so-helpfully demonstrated. You will be constantly reminded of what you forgot, of what you lost, until the end of your days.

 

Laughter bubbles up in your chest, pushing between the sobs.

 

It’s hopeless. Of course it is.

 

_ Names. Walls of them. Pinned high on the boards, each in strips of paper — _

 

_ “It’s hopeless. Of course it is.” _

 

_ “Don’t say that…we’ll…hard…” _

 

_ Blue eyes. Green eyes. Young, forced to grow up. _

 

_ You had to make it. You had to — _

 

“Excuse me.” From the voice, Erwin.

 

“No.” Katherine cuts in. “Gaveher...enoughtrouble.”

 

They debate for a while, quietly — but you could tell that Katherine wants him out, and that Erwin wants a few more words. You silently root for Katherine; you don’t want to see any of them again. Fuck this amnesia thing as a whole — you’re certainly not  _ obligated  _ to rediscover your whole life, not after it was taken from you so easily. No, you’ll just begin anew, and that could only happen when people will stop recognizing you from a time that won’t even exist for you. 

 

You contemplate on having a haircut, or overgrowing your hair to drape it over your face and hide you for forever, but neither are more appealing than the other. 

 

“Then we will leave.”

 

‘ _ That’s right,’ _ you think, ‘ _ just go away. _ ’

 

You open your eyes, almost to ensure that he does, indeed, leave the inn and everything else, and you keep your eyes on him with unwavering will for him to go. He does not look at you as he leaves, and it may be for the better, but when he finally turns, and his jacket loosely billows, panic seizes at your throat.

 

“Wait!”

 

Your voice is hoarse after the yelling and crying, but he hears you. You push yourself off the chair slowly, shakily balancing on your feet. Why did you say that? Why did you stop him?

 

“I...I…” You press hard against the kitchen table, gasping for breath. To his credit, he says nothing to interrupt you, though he looks unsurprised by your outburst.

 

If you knew him, then he is not your enemy nor is he your friend. What he is is  _ information,  _ and by the looks of him, a lot of it. What you were thinking before about starting a new life, that was still on the table. But if there is anything that you can salvage from  _ before,  _ then you will grab it with both hands. You owed it to...fuck all, Katherine? Agatha? Titus? Frederic? The soul and memories that wrote incomprehensible dashes of ink on pages upon pages of the journal in your pocket? 

 

You look right into his eyes, blue yet blazing, and point at him as if he wouldn’t know that you were talking to him.

 

“You...are going to tell me...everything,” you demand between seething breaths, “...and then, you are going to leave.”

 

Erwin nods, and you feel  _ something  _ humming in the air from him. “Of course.” He leaves the bar first, and you listen to his heavy footsteps fade then stop. You listen to the three mumble among each other, and you turn to Katherine, about to tell her that you could handle it on your own. Before you say a word, Katherine smiles — for your sake, though thinly veiling her hatred of the unwelcome guests — and motions for you to go with a hand. And you do.

 

The first thing you notice is that the floor is less...obstructive than before. Of course, there still are broken chairs and tables, but the food is gone and the broken items in neat piles at the sides. You survey the room, marveling at how ages away the initial chaos seemed. 

 

You turn to the only table that stood, to Nile, Mike, and Erwin. You need a good name for them. Heralds of Misfortune and Confusion? Agents of Surprise? The Trio of Turbulence?

 

Mike is hunched over, like before, but now he perks at you entering the room. Nile sits opposite him low in the chair, cross-legged and digging into his breast pocket. At Mike’s sudden change in behavior, he turns his head to you and you can  _ feel  _ the growing ball of questions to be thrown at any moment. Between them — and directly opposite you — is Erwin, standing and leaning on the table. He watches you, expressionless.

 

All eyes are on you, and you don’t imagine that you were ever a charismatic person because the only words you could rack up are—

 

“What happened to the shit?”

 

They blink. You motion to the floor around you with your foot. “You know, the shit all over.”

 

“That would be Levi,” Erwin explains. “He dropped by to help us clean up.”

 

“While I was out?” You frown, and Erwin nods. You see the brooms leaning against their chairs, the stains on their clothes and their boots, and can only know that what he said is true. Levi came by, cleaned up the place, and left without you, and likely Katherine, knowing. 

 

A shudder runs through you. That guy...you swear he’s not normal. 

 

You brush it off and sit between Mike and Nile, who both flinch at the scrape of the chair. But you don’t have time to do the same. Just as Erwin sinks into his chair, you demand, “Tell me everything.”

 

Erwin takes a deep breath, then says, "There are people after you, people after what you know."

 

_ Oh.  _ You feel a pang of fear deep inside you. You were in  _ that  _ kind of life.

 

"But I have no memories,” you counter, pushed by hope. “I have no information. I should be fine then, right?" Maybe, maybe you could still be normal. Maybe...

 

Nile scoffs. Being this close to him, you could smell some smoke coming from him. "If only it were that simple. These people don't even take kindly to the fact that you were once a threat. They'll still hunt you down, and are doing so right now. That's why you should come with us; they'll kill you otherwise."

 

_ ‘And what, torture me? Imprison me?’  _ "I'd rather stay, thanks."

 

Nile grits his teeth. His grip on the table turns white. “You're really tempting fate now, aren't you? These people are running the world, have killed countless to maintain their positions, and every day poison us with their selfishness and they will not hesitate to burn you at the stake and toy with your corpse if they find you."

 

“ _ If _ they find me. So far, they haven’t.”

 

“You—!” Nile pushes himself off the chair, but Erwin grabs his elbow.

 

"They will. Whether you stay here or come with us is your choice—"

 

”Erwin!"

 

"—but know this: whichever you choose, they  _ will  _ find you. And they  _ will  _ make an attempt on your life and everyone else's. When that day comes, who would you rather be with: those who have a fighting chance, or those who don't?"

 

You eye them up and down. These people are soldiers. They are, by nature, fighters. Killers. And these men are clearly superior to most. You can imagine how much blood has painted their skin and pulls at their souls. No one is safe with them, yourself included. And there is no real proof that you were in any kind of bad business; for all you know, they are tricking you into doing something worse.

 

But if — and this is a very small if — there  _ truly  _ are dangerous people after you, who are willing to destroy everything to have you, then you cannot risk what you have now. As fiery as Katherine is, you doubt that she could hold her own in a fight against hitmen or thugs. And Frederic is so sweet, so meek, he would even apologize to a flower. And Agatha and Titus, who are too old to raise a fist...

 

"Fine. Where do I go?"

 

The whole table shudders in relief. You see the tiny smile on Erwin’s face, the glimmer of victory in his eyes.

 

"Mike will drop by later tonight to bring you to our headquarters. Be ready by then, but don't pack much."

 

"Don't worry, I don't have much." The clothes you wore, the journal, and your coat.

 

"Very well then." Nile shoots up and hastens to the door. Erwin flashes you a smile that took all your anger to resist and follows. Mike looks at you one last time, really wanting another sniff, and saunters off. Before any of them could reach the door, however, you speak up.

 

"Hey."

 

They turn around, watching you curiously.

 

"Why..." You falter, their stares burning into your body. It's all so probing, yet...

 

You swallow the pressure inside you.

 

"Why did you help me?"

 

They stiffen and glance at each other, leaving you in silence for moments. Mike crosses his arms and huffs through his nose, more interested in what is outside. Nile holds the doorknob, twisting it left and right without pushing it, and stares at the floor. Erwin keeps his eyes on you, brows furrowed and lips pursed. 

 

"We were friends."

 

You all turn to Mike. Erwin is surprised that he finally decided to speak, while Nile looks more annoyed if anything, huffing and grinding his heel to the floor.

 

But Mike never pays them attention, only looking right at you. He has a tiny smile on his face, but his eyes are sorrowful.

 

“And we still are.”

 

Nile all but kicks the door open and you look just in time to glimpse the end of his jacket. Mike takes it as his cue to leave and ducks his head under the doorway. The light wavers as he shuffles out, but comes back once he is off the porch.

 

Erwin lingers just a step away from the light, in that you couldn’t see his eyes. Just as you are about to ask him what he wants, he, too, leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! It's done! Oh my goodness it's done! Apologies for the Levi bullying, Reader isn't fond of being chased down and scolded. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I had a lot to do in the outside world.
> 
> I want to know; who are you hoping to see? Anyone from the main cast, or the underappreciated softies in the periphery of the show?


	6. Thunder Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come out here, young sir. It’s time to run.

_On your last night at the Muller inn, after you dried Agatha's tears and recovered from Katherine's rib-crushing hug, you take to the pantry and opened the journal at the last  page: the one after the note that led you to that alley. It is covered with a mosaic of tiny drawings, all tightly condensed into a hypnotizing pattern. You recognize the shapes of people, of horse heads and squirrels, of birds — so many_ **_birds_ ** _— and their falling feathers. A small boat emerged from one corner, sailing down the canal that bled across the page. There were shops and cottages, houses not unlike the Mullers’, and, at the heart, a great fortress with a large courtyard. The fortress itself is heavily detailed, like an alley-by-alley map of its workings. You see a medical bay and training grounds, a set of apartments and barracks, and even a library._

 

_Then, in the tiniest letters, you see words written between the mapped out walls._

 

_“I don't want to die.”_

* * *

Life in the Scouting Legion Headquarters was more peaceful than you expected.

 

Erwin — you were one of the few who didn’t call him ‘Commander’ — set you up in what apparently would have been your room long ago, a cozy thing that looked bigger than it was thanks to a large window. You were situated on a higher floor and had a bed that seemed preened enough, and you wonder what exactly you were to these people to warrant such luxuries. An informant or witness wouldn’t have anything more than mere protection.

 

However, you weren’t to sit around uselessly all the time. Considering your condition, Erwin had you get reacquainted with closely-trusted soldiers in secret, agreeing to your rule of secrecy. So you spent most of your first day with the Special Operations Squad, piecing together the life you would have had with them.

 

“When in doubt, go here.” Petra waves her arms over her head, emphasizing the space of the library. “If you weren’t with the Commander, you were here, reading.”

 

You nod. “Got it. I hope it wouldn’t be an inconvenience to be here, then.”

 

Petra leans close to you, and you fight the urge to flinch. _‘She’s nice,’_ you scold yourself.

 

“No, no,” Petra says, “we need more civil minds among these brutes, anyways. But don’t tell the others.” She smiles, at first softly, then you see the hint of mischief in her eyes. You laugh with her, quietly, and move on to the training grounds.

 

Approaching the grounds, you could already hear the grunts and yells of the soldiers. The sounds of combat, the tears and cries and thuds, make your heart pound. This, you wanted to see.

 

A girl with short black hair had a large, blond boy in a headlock. The boy wrestles his way out, and the girl sidesteps his punch, catches his arm, and twists it viciously. The pair next to them isn’t as impressive, although the poses the bald kid makes look complicated. A little further off to the side, two girls were taking a break and chatting. There was activity everywhere. The sun was bright and golden, and pleasantly warm. There was laughter.

 

“These are the training grounds. You didn’t spend as much time here, but I know that you used to be in the army.”

 

You turn to Petra. “Really? Was I a Scout?”

 

Petra shrugs. “I don’t know, I only met you when you were here for protection, and you looked plenty civilian.” She winces. “Sorry, I thought that it would be too invasive of me to ask at the time.”

 

You rub your eyes and sigh. ‘ _Damn._ _I’ll check the diary later for any hints about that._ ’

 

As Petra talks you through the Corps and its functions, you notice a small cloaked figure following you, hiding behind corners whenever you turned your head. You say nothing, but keep an eye on every detail from now on.

 

By the time you reach the mess hall, it’s lunch. Petra gets you a seat with the rest of Special Operations and sits on your left. The one you know as Eld sits on your right and nudges a bowl of mash closer to you.

 

“It’s not the best, but when put together, there’s some variety in texture.” He gives you a warm smile, effectively destroying your growing desire to refuse. You nod silently and slightly dip your bread into the mash. What comes out is a sloppy, gray mess, but you close your eyes and nibble anyways.

 

The combination wasn’t _divine,_ and you feel a pang of homesickness for Agatha, but he was right. You force a small smile to show Eld, who brightens and returns to his conversation with Gunter. It seems that Petra is also busy with her colleague Auruo, even if their conversation seems less than pleasant. You keep to yourself and survey the hall, half-expecting to see your newfound stalker, yet you find none.

 

It’s hard to ignore the officers’ table, with the one you know as Hanji being so loud — even louder than back at the inn. You caught something about titan saliva and individual genetics. When you came here, Hanji was one of the first to approach you, and though you hated the barrage of questions, there was something about the scientist that made you feel at ease. Unfortunately, Hanji was incredibly busy at the time, considering how their assistant nearly spilled a tower of paperwork on top of you, so you only had a minute to get to know them. Hell, you didn't even know the specifics of the research done. They notice you watching and wave at you, then it's business as usual.

 

Unfortunately, you didn't get along as smoothly with everyone. One look at Levi’s dead-eyed expression brings the slightest twinge of annoyance, it’s almost second nature. You shoot him back a glare and he turns away. He reminded you of a cat in that way, in his serene aggression, and by the Walls did you want to kick him. You have made no move to approach him, and it's probably for the best.

 

“You and the Captain Levi don’t get along well, do you?” Eld remarks from behind you, rather flustered. You bite your tongue and return to eating your food.

 

“Maybe,” you mumble between bites.

 

“Don’t worry,” Petra chimes in, golden eyes large and bright. “It’s only a matter of time that you two get used to each other.”

 

An image of you curled up next to the Captain comes to mind and you grimace violently. Oh, you wouldn’t _mind_ if he’d just get over the fact that you would be staying here, but it’s not like you can get over it, either.

 

Around you are faces that you cannot hope to recognize, yet any number of these people could know about you. Could betray and use you without you even realizing it. They weren’t the Mullers, who were only innkeepers. These were soldiers, many deeply entrenched with death and politics and who-knows-what else. You don’t remember if you can fight, nor do you remember how to. For all the hospitality that Petra and Hanji and the like have given you, you aren't safe here.

 

A heavy hand holds your shoulder and you jolt. It’s Erwin, bending down with his face absurdly close to yours, and you suppose that as commander he gets a nice selection of cologne.

 

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly. Something about him makes you feel small, though not in a way that you feared him. More of, he radiates authority.

 

“See me in my office before dinner,” he says. You move to ask why, but he is already slipping out the hall, Levi and Hanji trailing behind him.

 

You look to Eld and Petra for help, but they are just as confused. Petra is stammering and grasping for words, while Eld sits still, pensive and silent.

 

“What’s he doing?” You extend your question to Gunter, who shrugs.

 

“He’s not going to hurt you, that’s for sure.”

 

Eld speaks up from beside you, saying “He’s probably going to ask you how you have been adjusting here. There’s nothing that will happen soon that you’d need to worry about, as far as I know.”

 

“You better have a good answer.” Auruo crosses his arms. “You’d be ungrateful other-ow!” He clutches his knee and retreats from the table. Petra is all smiles as she helps you out of your chair.

 

“I’m sure [Y/n] is not in a spot of trouble!” She tugs you towards the hall doors. “Come, we have more places to go.”

 

As she leads you out of the mess hall, leaving Auruo’s muffled curses behind, you catch one of the soldiers watching you leave. He is small and bright-eyed, and you have no doubt that this is the one that was following you. He sits among his friends, watching you intently, and just as the door closes behind you, he notices that you're staring right back at him.

* * *

Your tour ends at the stables, with Dita taking over to show you the cadets taking care of the horses. He talks animatedly of how the Legion acquired horses, with preference to the stronger ones due to the amount of equipment each one was required to carry.

 

“But it also comes down to who the person is and who the horse is! Yours, for example, is more speed than strength.” He enters another hall of stables, disappearing behind a tower of hay bales. You stay behind and dodge a little gray horse that tried to eat your hair.

 

“Did I go out on the field?” You ask. There is some rustling from where Dita is.

 

“Uhhh...not where we went, no. You haven’t had the chance to — you left early, you see.” You hear metal slide against metal. “Oh hello there, you beauty.”

 

You crane your neck to see behind the corner but catch nothing. “Dita?” You call out.

 

“Yes, yes,” he hums. More metal and adjusting, and you realize what he is doing.

 

“Wait, I’m not riding a horse!” You protest and hurry over to him. Dita’s laughter echoes as you leave the little barn and to the outdoor stables, where he coaxes an unseen horse out. You retreat slightly into the stables. “Oh, no, no, no, no…”

 

At the same time, Dita coos, “Come out here, young sir. It’s time to run.”

 

“Don’t tell it that!”

 

A large shadow blocks the light out of view, flooding the floors of the barn. Heavy steps punch into the grass only a meter away from you, and Dita crows in delight. “So you _are_ willing to go outside!”

 

“Get it away from me,” you urge quietly, refusing to look up.

 

“He’s a gentle type. Now look up and gaze upon your old friend!”

 

What even _is_ a horse? Some policemen patrolled the streets on horses, and the creatures always watched you with those pure black eyes. They had the habit of stamping their hooves, and you heard of small children, street urchins, having their arms trampled out by those things in nighttime raids.

 

You take a deep breath and will your anxieties away. So long as you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of it, it shouldn’t find any cause to hurt you...right? Ever so slowly, you lift your head. The first things you see are the hooves, which aren’t terrifyingly large and hazardous. Then you see the legs and the white socks and brown coat, and the rise and fall of its chest. You look further up and…

 

“Oh…” You whisper, “hello there.”

 

The horse had  a dark brown coat and black hair, contrasted by a startlingly white stripe down its face. It is much taller than the others, almost towering over Dita, but it has the gentlest demeanor and watches you with soft black eyes. After a minute of you doing nothing, it bows its head and begins to munch on the grass.

 

“Looks like he hasn’t forgotten you. You wouldn’t want to repeat the first meeting.” Dita chuckles and scratches his head. You pause in your steps.

 

“What happened in the first meeting?” He shrugs.

 

“Eh, doesn’t matter. Come on, give him a little rub on the head.”

 

You take the slowest steps towards it — no, him — and he raises his head to meet you. Once you are a breath away, you take up a trembling hand.

 

‘ _Please don’t smell fear.’_

 

The horse moves forward an inch and you force your hand to stay still. You focus on the brilliant stripe like a target as he bends down to show it to you, waiting. His ears flick away a small fly, and at first you think he’s annoyed, but he closes his eyes in the ultimate form of trust.

 

Promising yourself not to hurt him, you lightly touch your palm on his face and he visibly leans into it. You can’t resist gently stroking his face with your thumb, reveling in the smoothness of his fur. Quietly, you ask Dita, “What’s his name?”

 

“You named him Thunder Valley,” he replies, an edge of laughter in his voice. You finally tear your eyes away from him and to Dita.

 

“What?”

 

“You quite loudly proclaimed that your horse would be named Thunder Valley. I warned you that it would be a mouthful, but you said, ‘Fucker’s big and loud, I’ll give him a name he deserves.’ Of course, to everyone’s general amusement.”

 

You whisper to the horse, now Thunder Valley, “I am _so_ sorry.”

 

Dita waves a hand. “Don’t be, he’s earned that name himself. Runs like the wind and can stand any weather, truly one of the most powerful horses we have.”

 

Pride swells inside you and you look Thunder Valley over in awe. “And...he’s mine?”

 

“Yeah.” Dita retrieves something from inside the stall. A riding set. “Do you want to—”

 

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Yes!”  

 

Dita is a patient teacher, and he takes pains to help you re-learn the basics of riding — for one, that one does not rely on the reins for acceleration. That’s what the kick is for.

 

You gently urge Thunder Valley forward, and he starts with a slow, leisurely walk. Dita strolls beside you, holding the reins and guiding your horse around a small ring. _Your horse,_ goodness. What would Agatha think if she saw you riding atop one, especially one so majestic as Thunder Valley?

 

“Don’t be so nervous,” Dita pipes from below you.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You’re holding the reins too tight. Just relax, he’s smart enough to come back for you if you fall.” You have the briefest image of Thunder Valley galloping towards you at full speed, hooves ready to trample you, and you gulp.

 

‘ _T_ _rust Dita. He knows horses and this one knows me.’_

 

Knuckle by knuckle, you loosen your grip, half-expecting some kind of disaster to happen. But Thunder Valley remains calm, and you intact, and you almost hear the horse snort in amusement. 

 

"Alright, you can relax now." 

 

You gradually relax, giving your spine a break, and let yourself sit on the horse almost as you would a chair. The horse has a pattern, a very particular way of movement, and it's not going to suddenly change on you. Besides, Dita's there and the grass is soft. You repeat this to yourself and look around you, the worry fading from your mind, and you see...well, the stables. You see the same trees you saw just before, the same sky, the same grass, but everything is for one, far below you considering your new angle, and two, so much better. You don't understand it yourself, but the very feeling of being on Thunder Valley and trusting him to do his job sparks a connection you're sure is ages-old. Thunder Valley, you conclude, knows your burdens, as silly as it may seem. After all, you feel so much  _lighter_ now, so free, and you couldn't help but laugh. 

* * *

Nile doesn’t remember what the MP Headquarters look like anymore. He knows the map by heart, as what commander wouldn’t know his base, but he swears that he’s encountering newer and newer halls whenever he goes outside.

 

 _If ever_ he goes outside. And despite being in his office for days on end, the room is only getting more sparse. He does what he can by dusting the shelves and putting back fallen books, but more than half of the intricate carpets, curtains, and lounge chairs are gone with nothing to replace them. He also did away with plenty of the fine cutlery that his predecessors used to indulge in exotic, if not borderline illegal, dining. Just a loaf and a soup will do, three times a day as his mother advised him.

 

The only mess in the room is at his desk, where stacks of papers keep him busy through the nights. Only a quarter of them are official MP business, however; the rest is _personal._

 

Nile sits hunched on the chair, a sliver of smoke pouring from his lips. His hold on the cigar loosens with every exhale. He rests his head on his other hand and his eyes glaze over the seamless plains of scribbles and sketches. _Her_ notes. She sent them to him almost a little over a month ago, in a little brown parcel as she always did. Usually, she would send in a formal report with information that could help build the case, plus a longer and more personal letter of how she’s feeling. The latter was not required, but much appreciated by a man with no one else to speak with.

 

And even _that_ was denied of him in the last parcel, along with sense, coherence, and explanation. There were only piles of papers, each only the size of his hand, filled back-to-front with words and pictures that resembled the ramblings that some of his suspects put into their written confessions. What does the drowning horse mean, or the woman holding a deformed child? How about the man with his ears on fire or the naked bride wreathed in stars and doves? Were these messages in code or mere jokes? It was agreed upon that Nile wouldn’t write back to her to lessen the chances of her being found out, but he _had_ to know what those pages meant.

 

But there was no reply, and when there hadn’t been for six days, he wrote to Erwin. An immediate response would be impossible as the Scouts were on an expedition, so Nile went to seek out information for himself in the meantime. He visited her favorite places, those that had special meaning to her, like the fountain she pushed him into when they were young or the line of shops that lay a few blocks away from Headquarters, but she was nowhere to be found. It took the rest of the month until Erwin returned, with a respectfully swift response, and at almost the same time he found her again.

 

Nile sighs at the memory, massaging his forehead and hiding his face in shame. He regrets his utter lack of control, but there was so much to talk about then in what he believed to be so little time that he simply lost himself. She didn’t seem too affected by it, which allayed his fears a bit, but when he learned that she had lost her memories…

 

He takes another drag of his cigar and slouches into his chair. The case is in jeopardy and worse, the safety of his friends. Would it be too suspicious if he individually requested an investigation into a civilian?

 

Sunlight glitters on the long-empty chalice sitting at the corner of his desk. The shadow of a bird darts across the room until where the light ends, where faded pictures atop a dresser stand at the precipice of light. Nile hasn't the energy to look away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very intermission-heavy chapter. This took much longer than it should have, seriously, and I'm half tempted to end it soon. But I have plans and I'm going to stick to them. Thank you for sticking around while this was in the making.


	7. Spring Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm guessing you know who I am… and that you know that I don't."

You circle the space of grass a few more times then motion for Dita to help you down. Dita guides Thunder Valley back to his stall and you rub Thunder's neck for a job well done.

 

"What now?" You're still running on the high of riding a horse for the first time. Dita walks you out of the stables and points you to the general direction of the rest of the compound.

 

"I have nothing. Unless someone else gave you plans, you're free as far as I know."

 

You perk up. "Free enough to go outside?"

 

Dita's usual smile turns into one of conflict and pity.

 

Your excitement dies as quickly as it came. Of course you aren't allowed outside, why would you be? This is a dangerous life, even if you can't remember it, and anything here is just to keep you pacified.

 

_‘Like a child.'_

 

You take a deep breath and cough, obviously the one to save this conversation. With a smile so fake only Katherine could truly pull it off, you say, "That's… alright. Thank you, Dita."

 

You turn on your heel and hurry back to HQ, and you hope to Walls that no one hears you cry. With your eyes trained on the floor and your wrist to your mouth, muffling your breaths and catching tears, you try to navigate back to your room. You squeeze through clusters of young soldiers and they echo their surprise upon seeing you. Your cover might be blown, but you don't care. You just want to get out of here.

 

At last, a quiet hallway. You let yourself breathe and lean on the wall between the sun-paned windows. The warmth attempts to embrace you, but you close in on yourself so tightly that you evade it. The activity towards the center is so distant now, leaving you alone in a bare, one-ended corridor.

 

The tears slide over your skin, some falling into your mouth, others pooling at your collar. Your skin sticks onto your clothes, which are itchy after being used for days straight. Your past self hadn't left you any more clothes, and these ones were dirty and torn. You'll have to find some, you rationalize in your head, and maybe work for some money.

 

But of course, you can't go outside. You peek through the least dusty window and make out a much smaller yard, probably one that hadn't been the center of attention for years. The area, fenced off by a wall of stone, is what separates this side of HQ from the city and seems to be more of a back route if anything. Despite that, there's a handful of soldiers who mull about: veterans that you don't know doing stretches and a tiny population of cadets in cleaning uniforms tidying up what they could.

 

_‘Speaking of uniforms…'_

 

Other than with minor inconveniences, surely these people, who are already required to have some supply of complete uniforms as an organization, had clothes that fit you perfectly. You dry your face with the remainder of your sleeve and nod to yourself, swallowing that lump in your throat.

 

_‘Needs now, emotions later.'_

 

A burst of excited shouts from outside draws you back to the window. Cadets sweeping up leaves drop their cleaning tools and rush to a small gate. The gate opens, and five older soldiers enter, to the cadets' delight. One of them is Mike, the tall one, but the rest are strangers to you. They're all wearing the green cloaks you'd seen some soldiers wear for outside missions.

 

Mike leads the group and they stick together for a while, held in brief conversation, but after a round of nods, they quickly disperse. Most of them go inside the building, save for Mike and one woman who stay behind with the cadets. The former has his hands hidden in his pockets and surveys the area, ruffling the hair of one cadet. The latter is welcomed with open arms, her smile bright as she speaks with some female soldiers, cadets and veterans alike.

 

You squint through the dusty glass. What's going on? The soldiers return to their duties and Mike whisks the woman to a quiet corner. He bends down and whispers something to her ear, then she steps back, seemingly in shock. Her back is turned to you, but she must have said something to make Mike seem so grim. He nods slowly, and for a minute there is nothing, then she runs into the building. He chases after her, shouting after her, and that's all you see of them.

 

Huh. It might be none of your business, but it sure as hell is interesting. You fix yourself up and inspect your reflection on the window: your eyes are a little red, but that'll fade soon enough. You could just blame it on being tired.

 

You walk around, looking for someone who could help you find some clothes. The first night you were here, you went straight for the showers, and that's where you gave your clothes a quick spritz of perfume that someone left behind. That kind of luck won't happen again. Where would Petra be? She's been someone you'd relied on heavily so far and she's more understanding than the other members of her squad.

 

A small force pushes you back a step and you snap back into reality. "Uh… sorry."

 

The voice that follows is tiny, almost whimpering. "N– no! I, I wasn't looking, sorry… " You had bumped into your stalker. He has large blue eyes and, for a boy, long blond hair. He's tiny and looks up at you in a terrified manner as if he anticipates a verbal lashing. He shakes his head.

 

"Um, excuse me." He ducks around you and shuffles off at a rapid pace.

 

"Hey!" You yell out after him and grab his arm. He yelps, but makes no move to stop you from dragging him to face you. His trembling is in full force now, and he clutches his shirt tightly. Once you're sure that he wouldn't run away, you release his arm.

 

You keep your hands in your pockets, trying to show him that you won't suddenly get him again, and he trembles only a little less. Good enough.

 

"Who are you, and why are you following me?" You ask in a slow and quiet voice.

 

He takes his time to calm down, the poor thing. You'll apologize later, but now you want answers. In the middle of your own internal decision-making, he freezes, then looks up at you in confusion.

 

"Wh… what?" His mouth falls open and his eyebrows scrunch together. He stands on the tips of his toes, his eyes growing bigger and more concerned. "Y– you don't… it's me, Armin, remember?"

 

 _‘Ah, shit,'_ you sigh before you stop yourself. So you knew this kid. What lie would work? It's not clear if you were close to this kid or what, so you can't call yourself forgetful, as amusing as that would be for yourself. Can't say that you're drunk either, but maybe…

 

"Oh, right." You rub your forehead in exasperation and rest your hands on your knees, bending down to his level. "Sorry about that. It's been a while, and there's been so much going on that I don't have good control of myself."

 

Armin nods and clasps his hands together over his chest. "Well, that makes sense. After all, you've been gone for so long and you left so suddenly. Everyone's worried about you, you know? We missed you during the expedition. You don't go on them, but I don't know…"

 

He falters and worries his lip. Instead of being afraid, he's hesitant. Embarrassed. He avoids looking at you and constantly switches weight between his feet.

 

An idea comes to mind: you know exactly how to deal with this situation. Use this little guy to find your way back to Petra, ask her for clothes, and find out how the hell you know Armin and whoever else had apparently missed you.

 

"Armin."

 

"Yes?"

 

"Could you lead me back to Petra? I still have a lot of things to do, but I think I'll have time for you soon." You tilt your head and smile, and only a quarter of it is fake. "Maybe we could catch up after?"

 

Armin brightens and nods eagerly. "O– of course! Right, this way!"

 

He leads you through the halls, and as it turns out, you didn't need to walk very far: the corridor was part of the old building, now used as a bridge between the back area and the main offices. While you walk through the maze of windows and stairwells, Armin updates you on how ‘they' are feeling. You listen intently, committing names into memory to ask about later. From what Armin tells you, you have a cordial relationship with some of the younger soldiers, especially those of his batch.

 

"Sasha's been trying out those targets you set up for her, and she's better than ever! She could even pick out a falling leaf and pin it to the next tree! Connie's still stuck on that ring puzzle you gave him. I've already figured it out, but I'll leave it to him of course. Jean's still Jean, and I haven't seen him use the paint. I think he's saving it for the rare occasion. Oh, and Christa's–"

 

Armin's words are cut off by a rush of footsteps coming from around the corner. You tense up and get in front of him, and he pokes his head from behind you. The louder the footsteps get, the easier they are to discern: one is heavy and largely-spaced, suggesting a large person with a long stride. The second one is faster, lighter, and with some stuttering and scuffing. If only that could suggest what is happening.

 

Then come the voices.

 

"No, I don't believe it. I can't believe it." A stranger with a light voice.

 

"I don't want to, but it's true." It comes out in an unwilling murmur.

 

"And how are we going to do this? Just shut up about it and hope for the best?"

 

"Erwin's better than that."

 

"So what _does_ he plan? What are we doing?"

 

"..."

 

"What is it?"

 

You're leaning against the wall now, as close to the corner as possible without blowing your cover. Your arm is thrown protectively around Armin crouching on the floor. Both of you wait in breathless silence, straining to hear the quietest utterance of a word. Yet there was nothing.

 

You and Armin share a look. At this point, you might as well find out who's talking. You quietly stand up and press your shoulder against the wall, trying to look casual, then turn the corner.

 

"What's going on– ow!"

 

Armin pushes back against you to keep you from falling to the floor, keeping you against whoever bumped into you. You look up and find yourself pressed up against Mike, still in the same state and clothes you'd just seen him in but a little more exhausted. Figures, since he'd been chasing that woman earlier. _‘Must have been one hell of an argument.'_

 

Mike looks you over in his perpetually stern expression. Armin slowly releases you, but it's Mike who's holding you up by the sides and he looks so tired, with the wrinkle in his brow and the shade under his eyes to his ragged breath and slumped shoulders.

 

"What's…" You're surprised by how soft your tone is. "What's wrong?"

 

He stays silent and closes his eyes. Thinking. Where do you put your hands? Something in you urges you to put them on his face and stroke his hair, ask if he's alright, **_tell him that they're only dreams, it's not his fault, ‘it's not your fault–'_ **

 

Mike steps back, giving you some breathing space, then takes you by the arm. He pulls you out of the corner and keeps his head down.

 

"[Y/n]...?"

 

It's her, a woman with short, almost boyish hair and soft eyes, eyes that are tired and broken. She gasps at the sight of you and her hands fly up to cover her mouth.

 

"Armin," you mumble just loud enough for him to hear.

 

"E– excuse me…" Armin scurries past the woman and disappears down the hallway. Now it is quiet, so quiet that you hear Mike breathing beside you, the leaves sliding against each other, the soldiers doing work outside, and when the woman whispers:

 

"You're…" She tries to say more, but it clearly pains her to. You step forward.

 

"I'm guessing you know who I am… and that you know that I don't."

 

Her hands slowly drop and curl into fists, then with a deep breath she lets go. She has strength in her veins: benign, but no less hardy.

 

"I am Nanaba." Her smile is sober yet sweet. "We… had known each other since the Training Corps. When you came back, I was a part of your detail."

 

"How did we know each other?"

 

Nanaba laughs; a beautiful sound had it not been so weak. "It was the third day of training, and I accidentally… well…" She stops and flounders for words, then her facade cracks. She looks you over once more. "I'm sorry."

 

She turns and storms away. You try to go after her but Mike catches your shoulder and pulls you back. You're about to demand why, but he purses his lips and shakes his head. Give her time.

 

"What were you doing outside?" You don't look at him. You didn't want to see any more of how conflicted he is.

 

"Updates on your case. Supposed to be me who knows about you, but," he pauses and his grip tightens. "She had the right to know."

 

Mike releases you and you leave him, shuffling listlessly onward as your surroundings slowly begin to look more like the main building, with the white brick walls and large windows.

 

As you subconsciously sidestep passersby, you remember Nanaba's smile and how quickly it fell, and how seeing you made that pain even more real. Why couldn't it have been like yours and Erwin's steely reunion? Would Armin be just as upset if he found out, too?

 

Speaking of which, you'll have to see him soon. The white walls steadily turn orange as the sun sets and you retreat into the inner, cooler sanctum. Sunlight turns into torchlight and the faces that pass you grow more tired and worn. The peaceful privacy you had in the old building is ever pushed back by laughter and discussion that draws near.

 

As you weave in and out of the labyrinth, you pass the courtyard, so dark and quiet compared to the haven of noise and activity that it was during the day, and only a few minutes later you hear dinner preparation from the mess hall. You freeze.

 

_‘Oh fuck.’_

 

You dash deeper back into the building, blindly tracing the path to the officers' barracks. As much as you would like to have a change of clothes (a shower even, you must smell like a stable), it looks like you only have minutes to spare before dinner.

 

Eventually, you come upon a familiar door. It's clear that Erwin's in, with orange candlelight pouring from the gaps of the doorway. You push it open and run inside, but the office is empty.

 

Your head swivels left and right. Where is he? There are signs, like a mostly-intact lit candle, the jacket draped over his chair, and a cup of tea with a drop sliding down from its mouth to its side. All of that is forgotten, however, once you see a short piece of paper laid down at the center of his desk.

 

With stealthy steps, you creep over and delicately turn the paper for you to see. It's about the size of your hand and covered in narrow, curling writing. The ink is yet to dry at some points and beads of ink glisten like black stars. The paper reads:

 

_‘Consider Phase 3 of Operation August postponed until revisions are made due to recent incidents. The following agents will no longer be entitled to classified information Level 5 and higher:_

 

_Red Eagle._

_Apollyon._

_Castle._

_Starboard._

 

_Missions outside of Phase 3 and unaffected by these changes will proceed as normal.’_

 

Interesting. It wouldn't be that hard of a stretch to assume that you were the ‘recent incident,' perhaps even one of the agents barred from classified information. But which one are you, you wonder, and who are the rest? If Erwin's writing this, it's unlikely that he would be one of the listed agents; if anything, he would be the one ordering for this. Why? And what specific information is being withheld?

 

Fuck, this is about your life too. Is he really going to shut you out of this? Never mind that he's the one who tried to persuade you to join his side by promising to tell you everything. Yet now that you're on his ‘side,' not only are you being told such little pieces, you're also being excluded from it?

 

"There you are."

 

Erwin emerges from his bedroom door, patting his face with a small towel. His shirt is freshly pressed and his tie fits snugly around his neck. His hair is combed, but still wet, and loose strands bounce around as he dried his face. Once he's done, he closes the door behind him.

 

"I imagine you have questions." He draws himself up to full height and crosses his arms.

 

"What is this?" You demand, holding the notice between your fingers. Erwin has the nerve to raise an eyebrow.

 

"Paper. Have you forgotten what it looks like?"

 

"Very funny. I don't suppose that this is you leaving me out of something, is it?"

 

Erwin takes a deep sigh and strides across the office until he stands in front of you, close enough that you remember how much taller he is than you — not physically, but in the way that the sky is blue but you hear the distant thunder. He turns his attention to the window, almost urging you to see something for yourself, and you comply. The sky is violet and crossed off by the black silhouette of Wall Rose, but yellow windows begin to illuminate from below. A city coming to life before your eyes.

 

The paper zips out of your hold.

 

"Hey!" You protest. Erwin folds it up and tucks it snugly in his breast pocket.

 

"To answer your question, it does keep certain knowledge away from you. However, that is not my original intention. I made this order to protect the operation as a whole, as well as the agents involved." He begins to pace around the office, nonchalantly browsing through the shelves he passes by. "A little before Nile reported you missing, reports from some agents weren't received by us. We believe that they were intercepted by our enemies."

 

"Jumping to conclusions, are we?" You remark.

 

"I'm only speaking your language here. Usually, interception could be solved with a quick retrieval mission, but those reports contained what could be used as evidence in court."

 

"Evidence against them?"

 

"Us _and_ them," Erwin corrects. "By the looks of it, it's some kind of proof that we are carrying out illegal activities, operations unlicensed by the king, and that they are heading illegal operations of their own. Of course, I can't let you know the particulars."

 

Annoyance is the only thing keeping you standing at this point. "And I thought we were finally going somewhere," you sneer. "Nice move from the guy that promised to tell me everything."

 

Erwin cocks his head in genuine confusion. "When did I say that?"

 

You grind your teeth together and hiss. "You did! At Agatha's inn!"

 

He sighs and leans back on a bookshelf beside the desk. "No, I only told you that one, staying with us is your choice and two, we certainly are more capable of handling danger than them. Not only have I not broken any promises, but I also haven't made any."

 

"But… you… I remember…" You scour your memories for an exact phrase, a promise that he made just to lure you in, but find none. With you left speechless, he passes you by to take his cup of tea and begins to sip from it. He watches you from over the brim.

 

"Don't feel too bad. Not all of us can remember everything."

 

You recoil and tighten your fists. "That's a low blow, but maybe not so much coming from you."

 

Erwin's expression is hidden behind the cup. "Go on."

 

"You're the type of asshole who does whatever he can and screws over whoever there is, just to get what he wants, aren't you?"

 

"That's not a difficult observation to make." His nonchalance makes you bristle.

 

"You're worse than you look," you explain, "and anyone smart enough knows it. But no one has definitive proof that you're using them. That shit you just did is the perfect example of that: it works for you and there's no way to prove otherwise."

 

Erwin takes a long sip of his tea, the drops sliding down the cup's porcelain side and onto his hand. He draws the cup away from his mouth, his lips a glossy reminder of his drink, and sets it down. He closes his eyes and lightly nods along, then lets out a soft laugh. The smile fits nicely on him and you would have been smiling, too, if it isn't so forlorn.

 

"A nonexistent card had always been your favorite one to play," he mutters softly. His sarcastic amusement disappears and is replaced with grimness. You strain to hear what he has to say, but there's nothing to give. He stands with his head low, his face concealed in shadow.

 

Time is, for those moments, nonexistent, the only things keeping pace being your heartbeat and the steadily rising pressure within you. Anger or frustration, you don't know.

 

"I'm not here to stay in your glorified waiting room. If you're going to protect me, I'm going to have to know about what the hell I'm up against." The pressure drops as you say those words, and just like that, and you're hollow.

 

Erwin heaves a sigh and straightens up. You stiffen and he walks to you in slow stride. Once he's by your side, his hand lightly holds yours. The touch is warm, sweet, and maddeningly familiar, your fingers drifting beside each other without touching. The heat between you is thick and tickles your hand. You imagine that it does for him, too. The yellow candlelight draws shadows on his face, tracing over fine features and reflecting on his eyes.

 

Your skin tingles in knowing anticipation, like dancing a routine with the steps ahead in mind, and he only confirms it: his thumb traces over the back of your hand, forming a circle. Your breath hitches at the movement. He repeats this again, this time slower and heavier, all the while looking deep in your eyes, searching for something. You don't know what to give him. You don't understand.

 

He pulls away with a hint of disappointment and switches into a cheerier, more polite disposition. He opens the door for you and smiles. "It should be time for dinner. I'll escort you."

 

The sudden changes keep you from saying anything. As you wordlessly follow his lead, you think of candlelight and shadows.

 

* * *

 

 

When you arrive, the mess hall is bursting with activity and noise: soldiers bearing trays of vegetables sidestep one another, all raring to squeeze themselves into the benches; the aroma of vegetable stew and the eager chatter and laughter of friends weeks-long separated fill the air with mirth and warmth; and if you close your eyes, it almost feels like you're back at the inn.

 

Erwin waits for you at the door, hand outstretched. You lean over and beckon him to listen.

 

"Please don't tell me we did that," you near-whine. You glance down at his hand.

 

Erwin shrugs. "Take it and find out."

 

You inspect him with intense scrutiny, looking for a sign that he plans to make a fool out of you. After all, you had just known him and, more recently, had a right good argument with him. But from that same argument, you surmise that he isn't the type to play for the sake of playing.

 

_'A smug and flippant tit, but not a child.'_

 

He holds out his hand so casually and never wavers. You sigh and take it as you would a handshake.

 

"Let's get this over with," you mumble. You try to shut out the sight and feel of your hands together. _‘After this, I can just sit with Petra and Eld again.'_

 

Erwin walks you in earlier than you'd like and the entire hall comes to an abrupt stop. Everyone is on their feet, each with a hand over heart and watching Erwin with admiration and respect. You see Armin near the back looking at you instead.

 

To Erwin's credit, he is quick to address them. After a quick nod from him, everyone resumes enjoying their dinner. You try to pull away from him, but Erwin holds you back and subtly steers you to the officers' table.

 

"Hey, I'm not sitting there," you protest under your breath. He pointedly ignores you and you catch Petra's eye.

 

 _‘Help,'_ you mouth at her. She only giggles and leaves you be.

 

You curse her decision with every step Erwin pushes you to make. It is Hanji who makes space for you to sit between them and — your stomach churns — Levi. Somehow, there already is a tray of rations set for you.

 

Once you tentatively settle in, Hanji claps you on the back with surprisingly bruising strength.

 

"Oh hello there! I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you properly, I guess I was too focused on my work. How are you feeling? Any headaches, literally or, haha, metaphorically?" They not-so-discreetly regard Levi with their chin and you can  _feel_ heat coming from him.

 

"Uh, no," you reply, mostly to save your own ass. Your palms are sweating. This is not enjoyable at all. Now Hanji's going to think you're boring and will slowly end the conversation out of pity.

 

_'What to say, what to say, what to say?'_

 

You think back to what you know of Hanji, which is very little. Wild child and spirited, there's not much there. Years in active duty... no, not interesting. But you can ask about work.

 

"What exactly is your work?" You ask, throwing your bread and vegetables into the stew together in some desperate attempt for flavor.

 

Right question. Hanji brightens and grabs your shoulder, nearly knocking your stew over. Their eyes sparkle and a dark blush spreads across their cheeks. As Hanji speaks, you're being jostled around.

 

"Oh, you're interested in my research?! Ahaaa... you always were! I'm the head researcher around here and dedicated my  _life_ to studying the enemy. You  _do_ remember the titans, yes?"

 

You vaguely remember what a Titan is: something about giants and teeth and mindless violence. "Let's stick with 'yes' for that," you hesitantly agree. Hanji releases a loud laugh, drawing more than a few eyes towards you.

 

"Ahahahaha! No worries, I'll restore your appreciation for such majestic beasts soon enough! Just you wait!"

 

"I'd really rather not…" You scoot an inch away from Hanji and find yourself pressed up against Levi. He visibly tenses, as if you're that repulsive to him.

 

Levi inspects you with narrowed eyes and recoils. "Your coat is filthy. Where did all this coal come from?"

 

Coal? You dig through your memories, trying to find a single instance of coal. You never wore your coat when working the kitchen or the furnace, so you couldn't have gotten it there. Did you lay down on the floor or bump your back into some coal-smeared surface? You don't recall having that happen, except maybe only a few days ago in the… alley.

 

Heat rises to your face. The alley.

 

"Uh." You open your mouth to explain, but your throat is dry. Everyone is looking at you expectantly. "Uh, you see, there was a… an event. Well, not a big event but a small one, as in, something happened. And what happened was I was a… cleaner for ah… it was nighttime..."

 

Even Hanji doesn't look like they're having faith in anything you're saying.

 

Levi waves it off, nearly smacking you in the face. "Tch, forget it. I don't think I want to know."

 

He slinks back into his corner, sipping his tea, and you let out a breath of relief. In the peace and quiet that follows you try to get started with your dinner, but you get the feeling that someone is watching you. You glance up from your bowl and catch Erwin and Mike staring at you.

 

"What?"

 

Erwin quickly returns to his food and strikes up a conversation with Levi on how he's doing. Mike, however, remains the same way and you pick out the palest hint of fear in his eyes. Like he's caught doing something he shouldn't.

 

He bows his head, his hair sweeping over his eyes, and remains silent throughout the dinner.

 

You finish your food as quickly as possible and are the first one to leave the mess hall. Just passing through the doorway feels like you've entered a realm of peace and nighttime. Before you go too far, a gentle voice calls after you. It's Nanaba, all freshened up. You brace for some kind of emotional conflict, but she chuckles softly with twinkling eyes.

 

"Don't worry, I'm fine now," she reassures you. You splutter and try to come up with an apology, but she waves it off. "You shouldn't be the one to apologize; I was out of line earlier and as a soldier, I should have controlled my emotions better."

 

You wave your hands to emphasize your disagreement. "Oh no, you don't need to—"

 

Nanaba shakes her head lightly. "I do. I was inconsiderate of your situation—"

 

"Well, I could have told you better—"

 

"Ah, no—"

 

"But—"

 

Both of you stumble over each other's words as more people pass you by. Amidst your back and forth, someone calls out to Nanaba.

 

"I'll be there, Gelgar!" She calls back, then turns to you. "Um, that is… I'll see you tomorrow?"

 

"I'll see you," you promise. You two part ways, her with her squadron with Mike and you to your room at the darkest and quietest corner of the barracks.

 

On your way there, you catch up to the moonlit silhouettes of two soldiers, and from their heights and voices, cadets. One girl and one boy, the former taller than the latter, very clearly going in the direction of the officers' area.

 

"Hey Sasha," the boy whispers, "whaddya think we'll find this time?"

 

‘Sasha' giggles rather ominously and rubs her palms together. "Aha, I reckon we'll find candies from the interior, juicy fruit, and," she gasps in delight, "meat."

 

"Are you sure? Last time they only had slightly sourer bread."

 

"No, no, not this time. My hunter's instincts never lie; there's bounty to be found!"

 

"That's _exactly_ what you said last time!"

 

You sneak behind them, which isn't too difficult considering how distracted they are, and grasp their shoulders. "Hey."

 

The pair jump a full five inches in the air with a scream and quickly cover their mouths. They turn to you with fear and step back, getting ready to run. You grab them by their shirts, effectively keeping them with you. Even at this distance, the lack of light makes it hard to see their faces.

 

"Wh- wh- wh- wh- who—"

 

"I- I- I'm not scared!"

 

You roll your eyes. Sure they weren't, they were trembling like day-old puppies. "This is the officers' area. Unless you want to get in trouble, I suggest you book it to where you're supposed to be."

 

The girl speaks up. "Well, y'see, it's just… Connie and I…"

 

"Sasha!" 'Connie' whines. You cut them off quick.

 

"Listen, I don't care why you're here — it's clearly not official business. You're going to turn tail and be in your rooms unless you want me to bring you straight to Captain Levi." At his name, the two freeze and gulp.

 

"And I don't think he'll be any nicer than normal this late at night," you add.

 

You let go of their collars, and Connie and Sasha sprint off into the night, hopefully to where they should be before someone starts to look for them. You continue on to your room. Damn, you're aching for a shower, but it's too late in the night to bother Petra. You sigh and resign your hopes of clean linens for tomorrow.

 

The sight of your door at the end of the hall gives you enough energy to scuffle on and half-heartedly fumble your key into the lock. The door gives way and you stumble into your little den, still as hollow as you left it. Most of your things still remain in the sackcloth you brought with you, all dumped in the corner. The dresser is empty, your bed untouched, but your desk is an epicenter of activity.

 

There's the journal, with its worn leather cover and pages tattered at the edges; a pen that you 'borrowed' from the bar counter on your first day; a nest of spare papers from the Spec Ops office for you to write or draw on; and, something you haven't seen before, a medium-sized parcel with a card on top.

 

_'The hell?'_

 

You slowly approach the parcel, craning your neck to take it all in. There are two major items inside, from what you can gather: a soft one on top and a harder, firmer one at the bottom. It's wrapped in standard brown paper and sealed off with some string. The card affixed to it is signed by Erwin.

 

"What does he want now?"

 

Everything he'd done earlier in the night comes back to you in a rush of annoyance. You take the card and light a candle to read it. In Erwin's looping handwriting, it reads:

 

_‘I was supposed to give this to you in my office, but you clearly took things to a different direction from the start. And some clothes, too.'_

 

You puff out your cheeks and set the card aside. You undo the wrapping and uncover a bundle of clothes. You set it aside for later and get started on the second, smaller package, all the while grumbling to yourself.

 

"Really doesn't know when he's being an ass, does he? It's not like other people see it, but I do, and I'm not going to be toyed with by his whole _‘Commander Strongman'_ act. Can't believe I was willing to work with him before, glad that I don't remember—"

 

Whatever else you had to say is cut short by what is before you. You've seen something like this: there's one at the Mullers', up on the wall in Agatha and Titus' room of the family. Photographs were incredibly expensive, with the hand-sized one that they had costing a quarter of the monthly profit. This one is much larger and framed by delicate woodwork that keeps it pressed under thin glass.

 

You adjust the picture so the candlelight no longer reflects on the glass, offering you a clearer view of the photograph. It's a large group of teenagers, though many are more muscular than the frail market kids you'd seen before. They wear uniforms that aren't of the Legion or the police and don't even have the straps all over the bodies of the soldiers around you. Despite how close together everyone is, there are small clues that speak volumes about the hidden society behind what you see.

 

A girl with short, white hair and a pair of glasses stands off to the side, an inch away from everyone else. She doesn't smile like the rest, but from her shoulders and cocked hip, she is relaxed. Next to her is a boy with long hair who seems caught in the middle of laughter.

 

Crouched at the front line seems to be Hanji with a thumbs up, grinning as they have an arm over a meek boy trying not to dirty his pants on the ground. Above them, at the center, is...is that Mike? He is almost too expressive, too wild-eyed and goofy to be him, but the shaggy hair and nose give it away. He chose a mid-air kick for the picture and looks seconds away from kicking the young Nile in the face. It had to be Nile: he already looked scruffy and tired from the start. But the one in the picture has life, shown in the comical distaste on his face and the leaves in his hair.

 

A scrawny Erwin clutches at Nile's shirt, eyes wide and gentle. You imagine his small voice go, _‘Nile, please don't get mad. We're taking a picture, see?'_ Next to Erwin, capping off the lineup is a tiny Nanaba. Outside of height, she doesn't look too different before and now. Everyone looks so carefree, so alive, and as you take in all their faces you want to join them the second before the camera clicked.

 

At the bottom is a stream of writing, almost every word in a clearly different script.

 

_‘Left to right: Rico, Iain, Hanji, Moblit, Mike, Nile, Erwin, Nanaba.'_

 

And right after, in your handwriting, it says: _‘[Y/n] made the piece of shit work.'_

 

Conflict bubbles within you. All those smiles and laughter over words that the picture couldn't keep, that only the people hold in their hearts, it must warm them every day. When there is misery to be seen, they have this distant happiness to turn to. On the other hand, you're cold and alone with nothing to comfort in your heart.

 

You keep the picture in the drawer, face down. You roll out the clothes Erwin lent you, a standard uniform minus the jacket, and hang them up for tomorrow.

 

 _‘Not bad,'_ you think. You kick off your current dirty, itchy clothes and bed down for the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it show that I love the vets...? But hey, I get to introduce/tease some more vets, namely Nanaba and our friends over at the Garrison. Reader is doing her best to keep up the act, but for how long can she hold it up? Expect some breezy domesticity in the next chapter/s but, ah, it's only the calm before the storm.
> 
> How do you imagine this story to go?


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